


You Know Better, Babe

by PanicFOB



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 06:56:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20578346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanicFOB/pseuds/PanicFOB
Summary: Bucky always winds up at your door in the middle of the night. Inspired by the lyrics of It Will Come Back by Hozier.





	You Know Better, Babe

You awoke to vehement banging on your front door. You quickly wiped the drool from the corner of your mouth, slipped on your robe, and ran to the living room to answer it. Of course, it was Bucky. He was standing there with a scary amount of blood running down his forehead.

“Jesus Christ! What’d you do this time?”

He waved your question off. “Mind if I come in and bandage this up?”

“Sure, Bucky. Let me just get the first aid kit.”

As soon as he had stepped over the threshold, he began the usual nagging about your safety. “I thought I told you not to invite strange men in during the middle of the night.”

“If you really don’t want me to let you in, why do you keep coming around? Besides, you’re not a strange man anymore.”

You found the first aid kit under the kitchen sink and brought it over to the man now sitting on your couch.

“But I was the first four times you let me in at two in the morning.”

You rolled your eyes. “And I told you, I’m a good judge of character.”

“Clearly not,” he said before he let out a hiss as he dabbed the head wound with some gauze.

“Oh yeah? What’s so bad about Bucky Barnes that I shouldn’t give him a hand when he’s in need?”

His eyes darkened. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. I don’t deserve the warmth of your doorway, the food that you give me, nor the kindness of your soul.”

Geeze, why was this man so self-deprecating?

“Oh Bucky… you must be delirious from that wound. I’ll make you some tea; that’ll clear your mind.”

He grabbed your hand as you went to rise from the couch. “I mean it, Y/N. Don’t let me in. You know better.”

You pulled your hand from his grasp and went to start the kettle.

It had been nine months ago that Bucky first appeared on your doorstep. He had been on some sort of mission, lost his coms, and had gotten shot in the arm. For some reason, instead of wandering on to a hospital, he had decided to bang on the door of the nearest house and try patching up the wound himself. That house had been yours, and you had let him in the minute you got a look at him.

Obviously, you had heard all about the Winter Soldier on the news way back when he was an enemy of the state. Now, he was a good ole Avenger who you suspected had the softest of hearts. Despite his positive public image, Bucky still had a habit of thinking the worst of himself. He still thought he was too dangerous to be around, and he often waxed poetically about how naïve you were being to let a man such as him into your home and your life.

He came here when he got even the smallest of scratches, and it was never because he had lost his coms again. You knew he could just as easily return to the Avengers compound, but he always came to you instead. You could see right through the wall Bucky Barnes kept building, and you were constantly trying your damnedest to get him to understand that he was worthy of comfort and care and companionship. In your mind, you hoped he would one day realize that he was more than worthy of your love.

The two of you didn’t say much over your cups of tea. Bucky’s wound was healing fast because of his super-soldier serum, and once you were sure he didn’t have a concussion any longer, you got him some blankets and pillows to sleep on the couch, and you headed off back to bed.

You woke again to the smell of French Toast, and a fond smile fell across your face. Bucky did this every time. It was his way of saying thank you for answering the door and letting him in: he cooked you a huge breakfast with more delicious food than you could possibly eat. You changed into some jeans and a sweater before joining him in the kitchen.

“I’m really sorry about waking you up so late. I promise I won’t do this again,” he said without even looking away from the piece of French Toast he was flipping as you sat down at the bar.

You smiled again to yourself. This was another step in Bucky’s very heartwarming routine.

He looked over his shoulder to see if you had heard him. “Don’t smile at me like that. What is it? Have I got something on my face?”

You shook your head with a giggle. “Bucky, you say you won’t come back every single time, and yet, here you are. I don’t mind you coming here, no matter how late it is. So, stop giving yourself a guilt trip over it every time.”

He quickly turned back to the stove, but you had caught the red tinge in his cheeks.

“Sometimes I think, sure you don’t mind letting me in because you pity me, but you don’t have any intention of keeping me.”

“What?” Your brows were deeply furrowed. You had no idea where Bucky was going with this. He didn’t seem to want to answer you either, for he remained completely silent.

You stood and walked up next to him at the stove so that he couldn’t ignore your question any longer. “What does that mean, Bucky?”

“You help me, but you don’t want me, right?” His eyes were stabbing right into your soul.

It seemed, the only thing that would break through Bucky’s layer of self-hatred was absolute honesty on your part.

“You couldn’t be more wrong. I’ve wanted you since the second time you came here, when you’re lip had been swollen to the size of a baseball and you looked absolutely goofy. I’ve been waiting for you to realize that you don’t need some lame excuse of an injury to come see me. I care about you, Bucky. More than that, I love you. And I would love to keep you.”

He wrapped his arms low on your waist and pulled you close to him. You met steel blue for a long moment before your eyes fell shut and you let Bucky’s lips take you away.

Moments later, your nose caught a burning smell. “Bucky,” you mumbled against his mouth.

“Yeah?” he murmured back, playfully trying to catch your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Your French Toast are burning.”

“Shit!” he spun back around to the stove so fast it nearly gave you whiplash.


End file.
